


Dodging Lightning

by graycloudsfillthesky



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Ghosts, Graphic Description of Corpses, My First AO3 Post, Protective Older Brothers, Sheesh, The Hargreeves Kids Deserved Better, WE STAN BEN HARGREEVES IN THIS HOUSEHOLD, Wings!AU, baby!Five is a sassy bean. like. damn., but i'm describing their corpse-like appearance? so, everyone has wings, i'm being really mean to these kiddos, mom friend!Klaus, people??? liked this??? so i made an ao3 and welcome everyone to, pure beans, technically, thank you @ the discord, they are all birbs and im so proud, they're ghosts, y'all are fucking awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-17 18:23:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18103931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graycloudsfillthesky/pseuds/graycloudsfillthesky
Summary: The Umbrella Academy's students were... more than human. Well, more than what was now human. It seems a bit odd that humans somehow started growing wings, but normal never really applies well to these situations, does it?It was already hard enough being superpowered child celebrities, but add wings to the mix and you get a whole 'nother mess. Oh, and don't forget the further trauma later in life. That too.(also known as the one in which everyone has wings, and for once, the Hargreeves are no different.)





	1. Umbrella Academy Meets the World

**Author's Note:**

> hey, everyone!! if you're here from the discord, I fucking stan you all. if you're not, hello anyway!! I stan you too!!! 
> 
> hope you all enjoy me hot-gluing on a trope onto a TUA fanfic. i'm really excited to see how it turns out.
> 
> (tags and possibly notes will be subject to change)

Vanya's black-tipped gray wings rustled as she stood by her father, whose sleek crow wings starkly contrasted his white hair. After a few moments of waiting, she asked him softly, "Why can't I go play with the others?"

Reginald Hargreeves lowered his handheld telescope, looking at her without any expression. It was always so  _apathetic_ , his face. "We've talked about this already, Number Seven," he said curtly, "I'm afraid there is simply nothing special about you." He turned back once more to watch the building, wings shifting.

Vanya lowered her head. " _Oh,"_ she said softly.

When the rest of the Hargreeves children exited the bank, they were greeted by a crowd of bystanders, complete with clusters of reporters. They all looked cheerfully accomplished, wings raised proudly-- all except Number Six. His wings drooped, the gorgeous golds, whites, and blacks stained orange-red. The same stain dripped down his face and dyed his uniform a dark color. People gasped as they took it in. It couldn't be, could it? No. No child would be able to do anything that would cover themselves in that much blood... would they?

To Six's right, however, was where most of the attention was focused. One, Two, and Three all stood confidently, heads raised in pride. One's wings cast a shadow on him and Two, who stood beside him. Two was gripping on his knife sheath, only slightly less confident than One, who crossed his arms and twisted his mouth up in a satisfied half-grin. Three, ever the gorgeous one, stood with her hands looped in her jacket, orange and charcoal wings drawing attention to her immediately. If she was uncomfortable with this attention, she didn't show it.

Four's curly hair was escaping onto his face. He leaned on Five's shoulder casually, distracting Five from where he had been staring off into the bustle of movement. Five smacked Four with a small-looking wing, making Four yelp quietly. Some eyes trailed over to this scene, especially attracted to the bright green-blue that Four's wings shone as, but people only murmured to each other.

 

After all the mess had been cleared and reporters spoken to, the Hargreeves headed back to the Academy. They were bubbling with energy, shook from the new exposure. Three seemed the most put together for the most part, grinning cheerfully and perfectly.

Seven looked over them, only a bit sad. She was used to this, by now.

"It was weird, wasn't it?" came Five's voice from behind her. He wasn't the most social of the group, but he wasn't the least social. "Us being out there, doing the stuff we've trained our whole lives for? I would've thought it'd be... different."

Seven was slightly surprised he had even noticed her, but she nodded her head. "I... I guess, yeah." She paused. "How-how was it?"

Five shrugged, tilting his head boredly. "Too easy. The guys were utter dumbasses, so it wasn't like it was  _hard."_

"Oh."

Five snorted. "Yeah." Turning on his heel, he popped away, head raised with the remnants of pride.

It was never, nor would it be ever, irregular for Number Seven to be brushed off so simply. She was the freak of the family, no matter how odd that sounded. No powers, nothing special. In all regards, she was... normal. Normal was freakish. And she had long accepted that.

As she watched her siblings disperse, she didn't think about this. She never did. If she did, then that little voice in the back of her head would pipe up, suggest things to her that she never, not  _ever,_ would do. Those things were vicious, heartless. And Seven knew, even if she hadn't been normal, she would never even be able to do them. She was  _weak._ Too weak to ever ponder hurting someone, to think about tearing someone apart,  _limb by limb-_

_No,_ Seven thought,  _no, I can't go there._ And so she closed off her mind, shushing her thoughts, and didn't think about it. She couldn't. 

Instead, Seven flitted up the stairs, half walking, half flying.

Four noticed this, tilting his head with an odd quirk of his lip. He turned with a swish of his growing tail feathers, and stalked away, eyebrows scrunched. 

_What's up with Seven?_ he wondered. This train of thought, however, did not last. Six hadn't had a fun time on the mission, so Four came to his emotional rescue with blankets and support. It was worse this time-- blood wasn't easy to get out of white feathers.

(The other person who noticed was, surprisingly, Two. He pushed it off, but later would return to the line of thought.)

 

The ripple effects of the Umbrella Academy going public were numerous. They were no more the lonely children hiding in the shadows of an empty old house, no. They were  _heroes,_  they were  _lov_ _ed_. Where ever those masked children went, so followed the cameras and reporters.

Three, who was named Allison, easily handled this the best. Her flashy charcoal-and-orange wings were held confidently, poised perfectly like the model she ought to be. The press ate her up.

One and Two (Luther and Diego respectively) were eternally the same: overly confident teenaged boys. They were showy and competitive, their rivalry the stuff of legend. But they did not correspond much with the press; Luther was too curt, and Diego would stutter when asked to speak in front of a camera.

Four, Klaus, was different. He was never allowed to speak much, and everything he did say sounded mildly insane. Reginald did not like that, so he told Klaus to hush on fear of punishment. But that was of no matter to Klaus, especially where his baby brother was concerned.

Six was Ben, the youngest of the Umbrella Academy (excluding Seven/Vanya as per usual), and Klaus had (non-literally) taken him under his wing. Of course, there really was no age order, seeing as all of them were born at the same moment, but it had been decided before anyone could remember who had what role. He hated speaking in anything public relations, especially when the topic of his powers came up. Klaus, being the sensitive older brother he had dedicated himself to be, always,  _always,_ came to his rescue. Whether it was cracking out a stupid comment or simply changing the subject with a coldly wry smile, he knew just what to do to help Ben not clam up completely.

Five--who stubbornly denied a "real name"--was always harsh, obnoxious. He was stubborn naturally, but those levels increased whenever he dealt with "ignorant, moronic, clueless  _shitheads_!" His outlet to his aggression was other people, and he too was instructed to shut his mouth, though his snark was still very prominent, and a great source of amusement for the newly arisen group of fans they had gained.

All in all, they were very much interesting characters, even without the discussion of their wings.

"Seriously, this shit again?" they all internally groaned when the topic was brought up. It seemed that their fairly rare wing types fascinated the public.

Luther's, Diego's, and Five's were easily the most common, but were still rarities. Luther was a wide-winged albatross, able to fly long distances easily. Diego, a peregrine falcon, could dive bomb and nearly kamikaze himself in attempts to get a knife in an enemy's body. Five, along with jumping around like a madman, flitted around so wildly it appeared he was teleporting either way.

Allison's was different. Her wings were focused on often, a pair of artworks attached to her back. Parrots were already rare, but a dusky lory hadn't been seen in decades. She only used this to her advantage, making her reputation as the Rumor purely innocent.

Ben was scared. Ben was always scared, but his wings were a touchy subject. Vulture-winged people were greatly disliked, and his wings were large and intimidating. It didn't help that they had begun turning orange-red to match his Bentacles. (He preferred that explanation over the possibility of permanent blood stains.) He feared that everyone was going to hate him out of terror, for what was he more than The Horror?

Klaus, on the other hand, preened under attention initially. His brightly feathered wings attracted immediate attention to him, and his tail was the greatest secret withheld from the public. He blatantly refused to flash it simply for publicity, no matter how needy for attention he seemed.

Klaus deemed his tail as his most prized possession, and as such never let it be seen. So people stopped asking.

 

"Hey, Klaus?" Allison asked him one day. "Why don't you ever, I dunno, use your tail?" It was a harmless question, one asked by a curious child to another.

Klaus paused in his mindless chatter. "...well-- I guess it's just... I don't think--" he sighed, halting. For once, Klaus Hargreeves was wordless? Allison asked this as well. He snorted. "It's kind of... a personal thing, you know?" At her nod, he plowed on. "I want... I want to be able to _choose_ to show someone, to--to make my own decision for once. It's my body, why the fuck shouldn't I get to control how I show it off?"

"...wise point."

"Yeah. I guess."

For the next while, they were silent.

The house was silent.

No laughing children or flapping wings permeated this soundlessness. The ghosts were at rest. It was safe, _Klaus_ was safe in this moment. A weight, one of the many weights on his shoulders was lifted. 


	2. Like Autumn Leaves, So Feathers Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever the older brother, Klaus bitches out a nosy interviewer. He pays the price.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **slight trigger warning for everything that comes with the mausoleum scenes.**
> 
> this is kind of bad, but at least it's out. i hope you enjoy me literally torturing this lil' peachick here. 
> 
> if you're rather more of a fan of the others being present, do not fear! this story, much like the show, focuses on the whole cast.

Klaus bounced his knee, energized and annoyed. This stupid interview was taking  _ forever,  _ and he was bored. He had tuned out of the conversation long ago, so he wasn’t really sure what was happening. He blew out a sigh, a lock of curly hair being pushed up his forehead.

“And, you,” the obviously-fake blonde interviewer said, directing her attention to Ben, “how are your wings helping with the usage of your powers?”

To Klaus’s right, Luther winced, ducking his head ever-so-slightly. Klaus internally scoffed. Number One must have been gloating about his superiority and “skills” again.

Ben’s face looked like a deer in headlights, even partly obscured by his domino mask. “Uh,” he stammered out lowly, “they-uh, I’m.” He clamped his jaw shut, biting his lip nervously.

It was a pitiful scene, really. The poor boy was obviously anxious, but the fake-blonde goldfinch still hounded him on. “Well?” she prompted. “Can you answer me-” she looked down at her clipboard, which probably had their info on it. “-Number Six? ‘The Horror’?”

That was it. Klaus snapped. “Well, Miss Obviously-didn’t-tip-her-hairstylist-enough, I’d say that your-” he gestured to her rather distasteful yet “fashion-forward” outfit. “- _ look,  _ or whatever you got goin’ on here is the real horror. A monstrosity, in my professional opinion. Looks like someone puked on the color of your wings and called that a blouse.” He sniffed snootily, melodramatically shaping his features into a rather classy look of disdain. “And hey, since you’re already a  _ bitch, _ why don’t you go ahead and just chase a squirrel, yeah? You’ve already been absolutely  _ hounding  _ lovely Six here. Now, shoo, shoo.”

The fake-blonde gasped, before wrinkling her nose and schooling her expression into one of controlled anger. “Listen here-”

“Nah,” Klaus said, leaning back in his chair, “I’d rather not. Thanks.” He grinned with all the sarcasm he could muster, which was no Five, but it was a good amount.

The interviewer’s mouth shut with an abrupt click, hot pink lips pursing. She scoffed, standing up and stalking away with a huff, wings twitching with rage. The door slammed behind her.

All was silent. Klaus picked at his nails boredly, face carefully matching.

Then everything exploded.

The producers and other workers chatted irritatedly amongst themselves, some faces worried, some amused. Ben was looking at Klaus, expression unreadable under his mask but recognizably less panicked.  _ Good,  _ Klaus thought,  _ I did it. _

But Luther’s reaction was not nearly as calm as theirs. His wings flared angrily as he stood, stalking over to Klaus. Even as a teenager, he was tall, and his ten-foot wingspan made him seem even larger. Klaus lazily raised his head to peer at him, wings loosely hanging off the chair. The train-like feathers of his tail, though not fully grown, dangled from the gap in the raised chair to the tiled floor.

Luther yanked Klaus from his chair, practically fuming. He knew all the cameras were off, but Reginald was always watching. “ _ Klaus,”  _ he hissed dangerously, “what the  _ hell  _ do you think you were doing?” He shook Klaus slightly. His narrowed, glaring eyes could be felt burning into Klaus’s skin.

“Oh,” he said casually, shrugging as best he could under Luther’s too-tight grip, “just, you know, doin’ what I do.”

_ “Klaus.” _

“Wha-at?”

Luther looked like he wanted to shake him again, but instead dropped his hold abruptly, causing Klaus to fall on his tail feathers, bending some oddly. He let out a soft sound of pain.

“Well, wasn’t  _ that  _ rude, dropping me like that-”

“Number Four.”   


_ Shit. _

Reginald Hargreeves towered over Klaus from where he was still sat on the floor. His shiny black wings made him appear even more intimidating; he looked like a reaper coming to take Klaus’s soul. And didn’t he wish reapers did their job more often.

“Get up,” Hargreeves commanded him firmly. After Klaus had scrambled to his feet, he stared at him silently for a moment, before addressing Luther. “Number One, it is time for us to go. Gather the others.” His gaze turned back to bore into Klaus, coldly empty.

Even if he hadn’t been an utter  _ asshole,  _ Klaus would have always hated him for that look. It reminded him of the mutilated souls he saw in the dark, of the monstrous spirits that haunted him every time he closed his eyes too long. Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire, founder or the Umbrella Academy, adventurer, explorer--none of these were the person Klaus knew. No, this “great man” would never be any of those things. He especially would never be his father. To that man (who was more monster than mere human in his viewpoint), Klaus knew, they were nothing. Nothing. Simply experiments, numbers to put into calculations. They always had been and always would be that, as long as he could help it. 

But he said nothing, turning around and walking off to where the other five had gathered, silently expecting Klaus to follow. Normally, Klaus would further dig his metaphorical grave in by defying Hargreeves’s wishes. But today, he didn’t object. He followed behind.

  
  


Ben wished Klaus wouldn’t do this, as much as he appreciated it. Sure, he probably would’ve had a freakout, but he had a bad feeling about this time. A very bad feeling.

  
  


It was dark outside. Most everyone in the mansion was fast asleep, wisely preparing themselves for the physical tribulations they all knew to be coming in the morning. Klaus was not one of these. He sat upright in bed, a feeling telling him something wasn’t right. The ghost screamed, as usual, but this was different. Then, something besides screaming could be heard in the otherwise silent mansion. Footsteps sounded from out in the hall, not light nor heavy, pattering like rain.

Klaus breathed out, wrapping his wings around himself and lying down, hoping to seem very much asleep.

Four sharp knocks rang out on his door, as clinically sterile as ever. “Get up, Number Four. Get dressed.”   


“Wha-why?”   


“Individual training. It seems you need it now more than ever.”

“But-”

“No objections, Number Four. Now, hurry up.”

A few moments later, Klaus stood in front of his door, fully dressed in his uniform. He stretched his wings out, tail feathers shifting. He reached out, opening the door with his head down.

“Master Klaus,” Pogo said softly, likely so as to not wake anyone else up, “Master Hargreeves has been awaiting you.” He seemed greatly troubled, face etched in with lines of sadness. Klaus wasn’t sure why.

  
  


The drive to wherever they were going wasn’t very far away, but time warped for Klaus on that trip. It was… wrong, so very  _ wrong. _

“Number Four.”

Klaus took a deep breath in. He could hear screaming, so much screaming.

“Number Four!” Reginald’s stare burned into Klaus until he slowly turned his head, shaking.

“Ye-yes Father?”   


“You clearly have little to no control over neither your powers nor your behavior, so it seems it is time for… excess measures.”

“But-”

Hargreeves cut off Klaus’s meager protests easily, as though he had not attempted them. “Listen closely, and listen well, Number Four.” He exited the car, clearly waiting for Klaus to follow. Once he had, he continued on, walking toward an old, slightly crumbling building. Klaus’s breathe hitched at the stones sticking up from the ground, some surrounded by wilting flowers.

“No,” he breathed out, “no, please, Father, I… I can’t do this, I can’t be here!”

“Listen to me,” Hargreeves commanded. His voice left no room for argument. “You are going to complete your training, and to do that you must do  _ exactly  _ as I say, without complaint.” He gestured to the building, by which they had stopped. “You have the ability to view and communicate with the spirits of the deceased. Yet…” his glower returned to the now fully shaking Klaus. “...you are afraid of them.” A dense pause. “So you will be staying in here for periods of time until you can overcome this illogical fear.”

Klaus gulped, staring at his scuffed shoes. “Please,  _ please-” _

“In.”

The door was opened by the driver, a stout middle aged man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here. His sparrow wings half-flapped, as if he wanted to flit away and be gone from this forever. At least  _ someone  _ had on-point morals.

Klaus, eyes wide, shook his head hurriedly, taking a step backwards.

Hargreeves raised his wings slightly, threatening. The black feathers caught the low glow of nearby streetlights, shining murkily. “Number Four, get inside.  _ Now.” _

And so he did. His wings drooped, trembling. He shuffled down the steps, barely able to place his feet ahead of him, so horrible was the screaming. 

As he stepped, fumbling for balance, of the last step, the door slammed shut behind him, abandoning him to sob in the cool, dark mausoleum. 

The moment of silence that followed was  not long by any means, but the ghosts made sure it was as short as possible, returning to screaming.

“Please! PLEASE! LET ME OUT,  _ LET ME OUT!” _ he screamed, voice cracking. 

_ Klaus! Klaus! Klaus! KlausKlausKlausKlausKlaus- _

The screaming built up, and his sobs joined them.

Klaus backed into a corner, breath coming in wet gasps. It was too much,  _ too much,  _ always too much for him to handle. The voices all tried with all their might to get his attention, a futile attempt to get him to help them. 

(They couldn’t be helped. They were dead.)

From the dim, discolored light filtering in from a small window, he could barely see his feet. He huddled ever closer to himself, wrapping his wings around himself. The feathers were cold, too cold. Why was he so cold? Was he dead too? No, he couldn’t be dead. He was still breathing, still shivering, still crying. He sobbed ever harder, giving up on screaming.

Stupidly, he risked a look through a crack in his wing-cocoon. The ghosts were horrible-looking, not to be rude. They were skeletal, their rotting skin pulling on cracking bones and making for a frightening figure. It was as if their decomposition had been slowed down and then mutilated in their lack of an afterlife. But the worst part was their wings. The dripping, eternal supply of murky blood stained the few feathers that still clinged onto the crumbling frame. The skin was tearing, mauled by simply the factor of death. Why were they so horrible? Klaus didn’t understand why he was “gifted” with the ability to see them. It was more of a curse. 

_ A curse,  _ he thought,  _ one that was meant to make me be the fucked-up one.  _ That was seemingly funny to his panic-ridden brain, and he laughed. He laughed, struggling to breathe through his still-present sobs. It was hysterical and horrible, and Klaus only laughed more at that. A little voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Ben told him to stop, told him he was going to pass out, hurt himself. What did he care? This was already hellish, and even his still somewhat childish brain understood it wasn’t ever supposed to be this bad. So if he passed out, at least this fucking hellscape he was trapped in would stop inching ever closer to him, would stop being so torturous. He just wanted it to  _ stop, please, make it stop- _

Klaus did not lose his fear of ghosts that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed my bringing pain to a literal child! hah..ahaha...haha... 
> 
> god, that was angsty. 
> 
> anyways, i'm going to start working on the next chapter very soon, so that should be out within the next week! i'm sorry i don't really have a schedule, but i am a busy person.  
> i'm really excited to see where i'm going with this, and i hope you are too!
> 
> -Gray


End file.
